The scent of rain on hot asphalt,
unearths a ghost of childhood summers,
barefoot and reckless.
A melody drifts from a passing car,
a forgotten soundtrack to teenage dreams,
suddenly vivid, almost touchable.
The chipped porcelain of a teacup,
held in my grandmother's frail hands,
now warms my own, a phantom heat.
These fragments,
shards of a shattered mirror,
reflecting moments that no longer are,
yet pulse...
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